Fanfare to the Tempest
The quiet strings smoothed out the restless tide,
and everything sat still with an emptiness inside.
The soggy air hung above the glassy water
and the quiet grew soft and the soft grew quieter.
Hush-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h.
Sound the trumpets, the fanfare to the tempest,
the pounding tympani at an urgent request,
the picollos screaming up higher and higher,
up to the highest seagull and nautical flier,
trumpeteers with TNT inside the valves
rousing sleepers and boosting their morales,
aimed at the teeth of the swirling clouds
with thunder booming from open mouths,
a fanfare for all charging lightning bolts
with all the power of a million volts,
triple fortissimo and louder if if can be,
louder than the cracking as seagulls flee.
Here come the tempest and it do come
with all the pomp and blasting drum,
bringing on the fury of the stormy waters
and rousing up the old Neptune’s daughters.
The tempest do come, do come alright,
with missiles and spears and ready for the fight.
WAKE UP YOU IDLE SEAFARERS YOU!
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